After the Fairytale
by Joelle Hart
Summary: Liz and Hellboy were optimistic, confident in their relationship and their ability to provide a good life for their children. They didn't anticipate the problems they would face, even without fighting monsters. After "Hellboy II: The Golden Army."
1. Normal: Katie Sherman's voice

Many thanks to AbeSapien99 for being my beta reader!

I drew an illustration for the fic, found here on Deviant Art:  
.com/art/After-the-Fairytale-Twins-100178001

Note: This chapter is chronologically after the second chapter, but I think it's a better introduction to the story as a whole. The third chapter picks up where this one ends.

* * *

Katie Sherman's voice: Normal

Every kid thinks their family is normal.

It was always Mama and Daddy, my brother Trevor and me in our little house in the woods. And in the house before that too, and before we moved to America, but I don't remember that. And the cats. We had lots, and Daddy kept finding more -- skinny cats with sharp claws who wouldn't eat the dry food Mama bought them, but tried to steal off my plate. Mama said they were stinky, but she kept buying food for them anyway.

Mama would get up early in the morning and sit at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and looking sleepy. If I asked her to play, she would say, "Not now, Katie -- I have to go to work." Lots of times she wouldn't get back at night until after Trevor and me were asleep. Other times she brought bags of groceries, and Daddy would help her carry them in -- piles and piles of food. She would eat the dinner Daddy cooked for us, smile at us a little, and then lie on the couch and watch TV. She usually fell asleep before she had finished watching one show.

Daddy was always there with me and Trevor. He made us breakfast and brunch and lunch and snack and dinner and supper. He showed us how to take care of the cats. He played with us in the woods, but we weren't ever allowed to go too far. He knew how to do funny tricks with his tail, and he taught me how to do them with mine (Trevor was jealous because he doesn't have a tail). He watched Sesame Street with us and read us books.

Daddy never left us alone during the day. Sometimes at night, when Mama was home, he'd leave for a long time and come back smelling sick-sweet and smoky. Mama always looked a little mad when he did that, but Trevor and me didn't mind -- he made even funnier jokes then.

I didn't think it was weird that we never played with other kids. We had each other, and Daddy and Mama, and the cats. And sometimes grown-ups would come to visit. There was a doctor who came to see us, but Trevor and me didn't like her much because she gave us shots. Uncle Johann stayed with us for a while. We didn't like him much either, because his head made scary noises, and there wasn't any part of him that was soft -- only hard or squishy. One of the cats died while he was with us. He brought it back to life, but soon it died again, and we cried. Mama was mad at him for that. My favorite visitor ever was Uncle Abe. Me and Trevor would sit in his lap, and he would hold our hands. Then we felt just like we were under the ocean. Uncle Abe told us that he was letting us see all the places and strange fish he had seen.

One night our house caught on fire. Daddy woke us up and carried us out of the house. He carried Mama out too, but she wouldn't talk to us, and she looked sick. Trevor and me were really scared. Daddy told us that she was okay, but she had to sleep. We had to wait with her while Daddy made sure the forest didn't burn down like the house. Afterwards Mama did get better. She told us that she had an accident, and that was what caught the house on fire. Trevor and me knew all about accidents -- we had been told to never turn on the stove if a grown-up wasn't there to help us, and to never play with matches, and if we found Daddy's gun, to never, ever touch it. But I didn't know that grown-ups could have accidents too. That was when I started to think that grown-ups might not be right all the time.

When we moved to our new house, I was big -- four and a quarter. That's why I could tell that Mama and Daddy weren't happy all the time. When Trevor and me were supposed to be asleep, I would sneak out and hear them fighting. Mama would yell at Daddy about the cats and how there wasn't enough money and how tired she was all the time. Daddy would yell at Mama for not playing with us and for not caring about how he was stuck in the house and never got to go anywhere or meet anybody. It made me feel bad, but I kept listening. Trevor pretended like he didn't know anything about it, and wouldn't talk to me if I tried to tell him about it.

Mama and Daddy decided that we needed to play with other kids. So Mama read me one of my Sesame Street books -- the one called "The Monster at the End of this Book". It's one of my favorites, because I like Grover best. She told me that even though the people on Sesame Street know that it's okay for monsters and humans to be friends, and even be in love like her and Daddy, most human people are like Grover at the beginning of the book -- they're afraid of monsters, and don't want to meet any. She said that when I meet my new friends, I should pretend I'm not any different from them. I should keep my shoes on all the time so they wouldn't see my hooves, even though they are very pretty hooves. I shouldn't let them see my tail, because if they did they might tell their parents, and their parents would get scared. I shouldn't tell them what Daddy looks like, because they'd be scared of him too.

I asked her, "Is that why Daddy doesn't go to work like you do?" she looked surprised, and I thought maybe I'd said something bad. But she said "We used to go to work together. But that job wasn't a good job. We had to stop working there. But there are people who want to make us do that job again, and so we have to make sure they don't find us."

Then Daddy had to use a machine to grind off Trevor's horns. He used it on his own horns first to show Trevor that it didn't hurt, but Trevor still wiggled and cried when he did it. Mama tied my tail to one of my legs. It felt weird, but I didn't mind too much because I liked meeting other girls who were humans. They were nice. We played Dora the Explorer.

One night I heard Daddy's voice, very loud. His voice is rumbly, so when he reads a story it feels like a big cat purring, but this time he sounded like a big dog growling, so I knew he was fighting with Mama again. Trevor looked like he was asleep, but he didn't wake up when I said his name, so I knew he was just pretending. I snuck down the stairs, but I didn't want to just listen that time, so I peeked at them.

Mama was on fire. I had been told to be careful around fire, and never try to touch it because it would hurt me. But she didn't look hurt, and Daddy had his hand on her shoulder and he didn't look hurt. I didn't think about the fire, I just saw that Mama was sad. I wanted to help her feel better, so I ran to her and gave her a hug.

Everyone started screaming. I was screaming the loudest, because my arms hurt worse than anything, and there was fire in my hair. Mama kept burning and screaming. Daddy picked me up and squished me under his coat.

The next thing I remember is the doctor. She told me that Mama was very, very sorry, but that she was okay and not angry, and that she wanted me to rest and get better. I was asleep for a long time. Sometimes the doctor would wake me up and give me water to drink, and then I would go back to sleep.

When I woke up again the doctor was gone. I was thirsty again, so I called for someone to help me. Nobody came for a long time, and I got scared. Finally Daddy came in, carrying Trevor. Trevor's face was all smudgy from crying. Daddy was smoking a cigar, and that scared me more than anything. Mama never let him smoke around me and Trevor.

I asked him, "Where's Mama?"

"Mama quit, Katiebug."

Trevor started to cry again, and I did too. Daddy sat down next to me and tried to hug me with his arm that's big and rough and cold.

"Guys, guys, she's coming back. Do you know what she did when we used to work together? She quit thirteen times. And she always came back. She'll come back this time too. She loves you very, very much. She just needs a little time." But he looked scared and sad.

My Mama quit us. That's when I knew our family was not normal.


	2. Heavy: Liz Sherman's voice

Note: "Proud Mary" ("rolling on the river...") was written and originally performed by John Fogerty, with Creedence Clearwater Revival. Tina Turner covered the song, and what Liz says ("...nice and easy... nice and rough") is a paraphrase of what Tina Turner says in the beginning of her version.

I'd also like to explain a bit what happens with Liz's pregnancy -- the babies grow too large to be safely delivered, and she has an emergency Caesarian section. This condition, called macrosomia, is a real reason why a C-section may be performed -- and it is also called "big baby syndrome".

I've never given birth or been with someone giving birth, so I have only a vague idea of what goes on -- and I have no clue what would happen if one of the babies were born deformed and the mother was apparently insane. So if someone has constructive criticism for the hospital scene, I will gladly take it!

Many thanks to AbeSapien99 for being my beta reader for this story.

* * *

Liz Sherman's voice: Heavy

As soon as my key is in the lock I hear the kids squealing on the other side of the door. It's late -- what are they still doing awake? I open the door and they're on me, clinging to my legs, stumbling around in the oversized t-shirts they wear as pyjamas, falling over each other to be the one to lead me inside.

Katie's hand somehow hits Trevor's eye -- no, that's not true, I saw her purposefully hit his face in order to get in front of him, although that was only after he pulled her tail -- and he sits on the floor and starts bawling. I'm not really sure what to do. How do you judge between three-year-olds, when you just want to tell them to stop yelling so much because it's aggravating your headache?

God bless HB -- he sticks his head out from the kitchen and says, "Hey, Trevor, didn't you have something to show Mama?"

Trevor forgets about crying instantly. With a big smile on his face, he runs off to the table and brings me a sheet of construction paper.

He presents it to me with the pride of a master craftsman, and says, "I drew us".

I have to say, he's getting pretty good. The scribbles look like people this time -- at least, they're organized into groups that are vaguely people-shaped. In fact, I can even tell which one is me -- it's the big one that doesn't look like he used up a whole red crayon drawing it. I smile at him and tell him that it's very good and it's going on the refrigerator right away, and he just beams.

Katie's clinging to the corner of my jacket.

"I made us too. With Play-doh. But Daddy said it would get yucky and crumbly. So it went in the box. And I did a picture, but it was bad, so I crumpled it."

I put on my best 'that is a grave injustice' face and tell her I'm sure it was a very good picture, and she should make another one to show me tomorrow. Now she looks happy too. All right, I've got this mothering thing down.

But now they're both talking at once, bringing me books and filling my arms with toys, and I'm wondering how I can get past them and just get to the kitchen so I can get some food...

HB to the rescue. He walks in from the kitchen and says, "Hey guys, we had a deal. You showed Mama your art. Now bed."

"No, no bed!" yells Trevor, and Katie says, "I wanna stay up!" at the same time. Then they both let loose with the most god-awful whine, "Dad-eeeeeee!" I swear, those kids have somehow discovered how to pitch their voices in a dissonant chord like a car horn. The sound grates up and down my spine.

HB is unfazed, though. He puts his hand to his ear like he's talking into a radio with an earpiece. "Who's that? Captain Whiny and Wonder Whiner? Thanks but no thanks. We've got the situation under control here -- the kids are keeping their promises and going to bed with no fuss."

"Story first." pouts Katie. "Yeah, I wanna hear about Mac the Super-dog." adds Trevor.

"Okay, ooooone story", sighs HB, holding up his hands in a dramatic gesture of defeat, "but then bed. Right away. Mama and Daddy are sleepy." He picks up the kids, one giggling in each hand, and carries them off to their bedroom. "Spaghetti's on the stove" he calls over his shoulder to me.

I find the food and sit down to eat with a sigh of relief, stretching out my aching back and tucking up my feet. I have to say, HB's become a good cook. Necessity is the mother of... something something, but anyway. Living in institutions our whole lives, being brought meals on trays, neither one of us knew the first thing about cooking when we first quit the Bureau. It took a lot of experimentation to make something halfway edible, and I'm just happy that we figured out how to approximate the things we were used to eating before we started eating grass. Lucky Abe -- apparently he can get by on what he catches himself in the ocean. Doesn't even have to deal with money, with holding a nine-to-whenever-they-decide-to-let-me-leave job.

I've finished eating and started doing the dishes when HB comes back from putting the kids to bed. "Leave those -- I'll get them in the morning" he says softly. He puts his hand lightly on the small of my back, and I realize he's not really sleepy.

Once I said to him, "You want everyone to like you. Aren't I enough?" That was stupid of me. I had no idea what it meant to have to be somebody's "enough", to have to be their whole world. Even during the worst times at the Bureau, even when they locked him up like an animal, he always at least saw Agent Clay six times a day. They had that weird guy-thing type of friendship, all insults and punches in the arm, but I never realized how much it meant to him -- how much he depended on it. Then Agent Clay died. Then Professor Bruttenholm died, and HB's world was pretty much cut in half. No wonder he went a little crazy in the year after that. For the longest time I thought it was because of me -- kind of narcissistic of me. He thought that going public would get him new friends, new family -- somebody to talk to as an equal, some insurance that he wouldn't be left all alone. He was wrong. We thought that leaving the B.P.R.D. would win us freedom. We were wrong.

Don't get me wrong here, HB loves the kids, and he takes good care of the house. But that's it now -- four walls. If he gets himself seen, we'll have to move again. The Bureau is not happy with us, and we're not going to let ourselves get caught and punished. We won't submit to more of their control and insults. Plus there's the kids -- we know, Abe knows, first-hand we all know, how the Bureau would treat them. The kinds of crazy experiments they think they have to do on people like us. We don't want that for our children.

So HB barely ever sees another adult. Never gets the chance to make new friends to replace the ones he's lost. All his needs for companionship rest on me now. Only me. So when he asks me for intimacy, how can I say no?

But I am sleepy. My limbs are heavy with fatigue, and I drag myself into our room. I try to pay attention to what he's saying, to what we're doing, but it's dark, and I'm horizontal, and my mind starts drifting...

We're standing together just outside our first house, in Ireland. We're watching Johann walk away from us. Just a few days after we all quit, Johann announced that he was going to make amends and return to the paranormal defense business, to Washington. He's the one who got us this house -- he contacted his office so quickly, they never had time to freeze his bank account, and he paid the first month's rent for us. He says since he's authorized to spend large amounts of money on arcane items on a regular basis, they'll never guess where the funds went.

"I shall claim it as 'incorporate abode for the repose of souls in transition,'" he says in his clicky voice.

Red gives him a hard time about returning to work for The Man, but it's all in good fun. We thank Johann profusely, and he promises to keep our secret. "I shall endeavor to obfuscate!" he says, twirling a determined finger in the air.

As Red and I are watching Johann leave, I hear a low rumbling coming from Red's chest. "What's that you're doing?" I ask him playfully, and he starts to sing.

"Left a good job in the city / Working for The Man every night and day..."

I join in. "But I never lost one minute of sleepin' / worrying 'bout the way things might have been."

He slips seamlessly into a spot-on John Fogerty imitation. "Big wheel keep on toin'in / Prrroud Mary keep on boin'in."

"Rollin'! Rollin'! Rollin' on the river!"

We sing the rest of the verses, and I fold myself into his arms and say, "We did that nice... and easy. But you and me, we never... ever... do anything nice and easy. So I guess now we'll have to do it nice... and rough."

I didn't know that joke would turn prophetic. It wasn't too long after that that Johann contacted us, saying that the Bureau had stopped inviting us to return with full amnesty -- now they wanted to arrest us for treason. We ran. We hid. We've been running and hiding ever since.

I wake up out of my memory into the present day. Red is talking to me, but I can't follow what he's saying. I nod and make some sound of agreement, and then I'm drifting off again...

Abe's hands are on my pregnant belly. He's telling me that the babies are healthy, and in their own small way, happy. "But I'm not a doctor, Liz. Even if you're eating properly and feeling well, there are still many precautions that have to be taken. There may still be complications, and you need to have a prearranged way to get emergency care".

HB and I thank him for his advice, and promptly forget all about it. Until I'm just about into the ninth month, and the things growing inside me have gotten so big and heavy that I can't move. There's no room inside me for me anymore. We're terrified. Red carries me to a hospital, leaves me on the sidewalk near the door, and makes an anonymous call.

I'm wheeled in with a great commotion, and examined, and then they're putting me under sedation...

"Liz?" HB says my name present-day, and I snap awake.

"You're awfully quiet. Is... is this okay? What do you want?"

"That's good," I murmur, "keep going." And I try to concentrate, I really do, but I can't stay awake...

... I come out of the sedation slowly, in a hospital bed, with a nurse watching me. There is a baby in her arms. She smiles thinly, but her face is drawn and pale. Something is clearly wrong. She hands the baby to me.

"Congratulations, Ms. Jones. You have a healthy son."

But I can't marvel at his tiny perfection, can't enjoy him until I know why she looks so worried.

"Two babies" I groan.

"Yes... you also have a daughter. We'll bring her to you very soon. But Ms. Jones, we will have to talk about your options. I'm sorry... your daughter was born with deformities."

Oh, no. Oh, God, no. "What is it? Where is she?"

"She's all right -- we're running some tests now. She is healthy by all measures so far, but we will have to talk to you soon about the possibility of corrective surgery. Ms. Jones, your daughter has deformed feet. And a tail."

... It takes a moment for that to sink in. Then I'm laughing -- I'm hysterical with relief. The nurse watches me in shock.

"Does she have little hoofsies?" I choke out through my laughter.

"Ms. Jones, please! I know this is hard news to take, but it's hardly the time for jokes! We'll need all the family information you can possibly give us, to rule out hereditary causes... and we'll need a full account of everywhere you went and everything you did during your pregnancy, to determine what teratogens you may have come in contact with..."

"No need. I know the reason. Don't you know that if a woman is thinking about a monster when she conceives, her children will be born looking like that monster?"

The nurse is not impressed by my charming Old World folklore. "Please, this is serious! Whatever caused your daughter's condition may have also come in contact with many other women -- there may be other children at risk of the same condition."

"I hope not! If that's the case, I've got some butt-kicking to do!"

The nurse looks completely bewildered, and it all only makes me laugh harder. Until I hear what she says next.

"Try to calm down, please. This hospital collaborates with an organization that is well-equipped at diagnosing unusual medical conditions. We'll be contacting them shortly to have a look at your daughter."

Unusual... as in, paranormal? It must be. Some European paranormal defense organization -- they'll contact the B.P.R.D.

I shout at her not to contact them. She's thoroughly frightened now, and takes my son out of my arms. I reach for her, but a searing pain shoots through my abdomen and I fall back onto the bed. Other nurses pour in through the door and hold me down as I struggle and scream.

Finally they inject a syringe through the IV still embedded in my arm and I'm knocked out again...

I surface from that drug feeling disoriented and frightened, though it takes me a few moments to remember why. There's a sound in my ears like a distant roaring, the sound of crashes and screams... it gets louder... wait a second, I'm definitely hearing screaming. And it's coming from this floor...

All at once, I know what's happening. I try to drag myself out of bed, but my belly hurts too much. I lie still and wait.

Sure enough, there's Red's goofy face peeking in the door. I have never been happier to see him.

"Good morning, Princess."

"G'morning."

"Babe, I hate to have to bother you so soon, but we're screwed."

"I know. They called an agency..."

"Yeah. I worked with them back in the 80s a few times-- I recognized their logo on a truck pulling up. They're on their way. We gotta go. Grab the kids."

"I don't know where they are. They took them..."

He unhooks the IV from my arm and lifts me, so gently, out of the bed. "So let's ask for directions."

When we exit into the hall I see the nurse who handed me my son. I point at her. "That woman -- there! She knows where they are!"

The poor woman looks scared out of her mind. Red says to her, as if he's really asking directions to the nearest ATM or something, "'Scuse me, ma'am. Can you help us find our kids?"

She stares at him, saucer-eyed, and stammers, "Are you Harold?" Red gives me a quizzical look. Oh man, he's going to love this.

"They asked me for my name," I explain, "so I gave them a name. Then they asked me for the father's name, and I didn't think fast enough, so I said HB. And they asked what the H and B stand for. So I told them Harold and Bruce."

He does love it. He gives a great big bark of laughter. "That's right! Harold Bruce, that's me, and I've come to pick up Harold Junior and Brucelina. So you gonna help us, or what?"

The nurse scurries down the hall, and we follow her. She motions us into a room filled with equipment, and we see a baby -- our baby -- inside an incubator. HB stares in amazement. "Look at that color..."

"All babies are born that color" I tell him.

"Really? They look a lot pinker on tv."

The nurse lifts out our child and holds it towards us -- scared as she is, she won't hold a newborn at arm's length, but instead she cradles her and presents her gently to HB. He looks at me with a question in his eyes, and I let him set me down so he can take our child with both hands. Reverently, he holds her, peering into her face, stroking her clenched fists and tiny hooves, examining her little tail that's curled like a newly growing fern. In a proud voice, he says, "That's my boy."

"That's one's a girl." I correct him.

"Oh."

I turn to the nurse. "We're in a hurry -- where's our son?"

She motions for us to follow her again. HB give me our daughter and lifts me up again. We walk down a couple of halls and see the nursery -- dozens of babies. The nurse walks in between them, and with only the briefest hesitation to check the name tag, pulls one out and brings it to us. Yes, he's the one I held before.

HB looks at him for a moment and whispers, "Liz. Look. His forehead." I run a finger over the edge of my son's sleek black hair. There are two tiny bald spots there, easily missed by anyone not looking for them -- circular, the size of the end of a pencil. He will have horns.

HB puts me down again so he can hold both children at once. He looks from one to the other, then looks at me with an expression of adoration and says, "Aw, Liz. You're my hero."

"We have to get out of here!" I remind him.

He tucks both of the babies into my arms and turns to the nurse. "We can't tell you how much this means, really. Thanks. Uh..." He patted frantically around his coat and found something in one of the pockets. "Here -- have a cigar."

The nurse looks at the cigar in horror. I do too. "Red, has that thing been smoked halfway already?"

"I don't have any whole ones left" he says sheepishly, "but I can vouch for the quality of that one."

As I roll my eyes, he picks me up and walks out the door and towards a bank of windows we saw on the way over. When we're halfway to them, we hear footsteps running behind us. I feel HB tense like he's going to sprint for it, but it's only a single pair of footsteps, and then a voice calls out, "Breastfeed!"

It's the same nurse. I wish I could remember her name. She shouts after us, "Breastfeed as soon as you can! Do it whenever the babies want it! Exclusively for six months! Good luck!"

We thank her again, and then HB tries to open one of the windows. We're already leaving them with the bill and rooms full of startled patients, we don't want to cost them even more money -- but it won't push out far enough. Looking apologetic, he breaks the window out with his stone fist.

He tells me to hold on tight, and we go out though the window. I'm still a bit dizzy from the anesthetics, and I feel weightless as he carries us through the dark city...

"Liz! Hey Liz, what's wrong?"

I wake up again. It's pitch-dark and I can't see his expression, but I can hear the edge in his voice.

"Nothing's wrong," I answer.

"You didn't answer just then. What's bothering you?"

I can't tell him what I'm thinking. I can't take an argument now. I can't take sulking tomorrow morning. I can't take long hours at work and his badgering for answers at home.

"Nothing's bothering me, honest. I'm just a little tired, that's all. That's the only reason I'm being kind of quiet. But I'm enjoying this, really. Come here..."

He hesitates. I reach for him, pull him towards me...

When did he get so heavy?

It's not his actual weight -- although that has changed too. He wants to eat like he did back at the Bureau, but since now he never has to do anything more strenuous than pushing a vacuum or racing a 3-year-old, his monster-fighting muscle is melting into fat. But the man's got a hand made out of stone -- a bit of a gut can't make that much difference. No, it's in the way he acts. He was so careful of me when we first left the Bureau, especially when I was sick with my pregnancy. So worried not to be a burden to me in any way. Now, even if we're just standing around, he leans on me -- leans on me like a crutch. Leans into me like he wants a bit of his soul to fall into me, so he can leave the house with me and go walking into town...

I am walking through the town. Grocery store, again. Long shopping list, again. I run my eyes down it, hoping there's enough in my bank account to cover it, hoping desperately he won't ask me to go shopping again before my next paycheck comes through. Coupons. Shelves. Sales -- I have to hit the sales. Cart. I dig my feet into the floor to get the cart rolling -- too many cans this time. Up and down the aisles. And to the checkout.

The cashier eyes my overflowing cart. She eyes me -- it hasn't been too many days since I was here last. Why can't I even buy food for my family without people staring at me like a freak?

She pulls produce out of the cart. Potato, potato, potato... how many potatoes will my family eat in a week? In a day? Can, can, can, can...

Something has changed in the present time, and I wake out of my dream. HB has moved -- now he's lying with his back to me. I don't know whether he's finished, or just given up. I want to comfort him, but I'm so tired, I can't bring myself to move.

"I love you." I say. Or maybe I just thought about saying it. I can't tell. I'm already asleep.


	3. Leaving: Hellboy's voice

Note: The quoted Bible verse is Mark 9:43, New International Version. The line "steal my daddy's cue and make a living out of playing pool" is a lyric from the song "Maggie May" by Rod Stewart.

* * *

Hellboy's voice: Leaving

"--I can't do it anymore. It's all too difficult. I always knew I'd hurt the children, and now I did. I won't let what happened to my family happen to them. They'll be better off without me, and so will you. Tell them I'm sorry. When they can understand, tell them I loved them more by leaving. My love always to you. Liz.--"

She's left a handful of money on the kitchen counter, tucked under a jar of dry macaroni with the note. It's been hours since she left for work. I call both of her offices -- she went in early in the morning, turned in her resignation, and left. She left.

First things first.

Naw, screw that. I chain-smoke about a dozen cigars and watch tv. Trevor's looking at me funny, but not asking any questions. He won't know his mom's gone till tonight. Maybe tomorrow, if I play it right.

Now, first things.

I put all the food in the house out on the tables, and calculate how long it will take us to finish it. A few days. A week, tops. I say, what if I eat half what I usually do, and the kids eat normally. There's a couple of weeks then. I say, what if I don't eat anything, and the kids eat normally. Maybe that'll stretch out to a month. I wonder vaguely if I can eat cat food. Crap. It's too damn short.

I've got this money, but I can't just go walking into a grocery store. And once that money's gone... I've used the ATM to withdraw from Liz's account a few times, but I can't remember the PIN number -- and I wouldn't steal from Liz anyway.

Haven't heard from Abe in months. Guess he's happy, out in the ocean eating krill or whatever the hell he does. Can't count on him for advice. Johann's been good for cash in the past... but he's more of the go-to guy to misappropriate a few hundred dollars on a one-time purchase. He can't be shelling out an allowance for groceries. One more person left.

I wait a couple of days, to see if I can think of something else, but I can't. I take the kids over to Dr. Page's place. She's not happy.

"I've been giving your children medical care for years, often for free let me remind you, but I am simply, absolutely unable to take care of your daily needs and keep it a secret."

"Hey now, I'm not asking much. Take this money here and go to the grocery store for us. Just one time. Keep whatever you don't spend. That'll give me enough time to think of something else. Or Liz will come back."

"Mr. Sherman, this is an extremely difficult thing to say, but listen to me. You can't wait around and hope Liz comes back. She was your one source of income, aren't I right? Children need safety and stability. I'm sorry, but I don't think you're able to care for them anymore."

Bugger and damnation. "Doctor, here's how it is. Liz left me. This is the woman I love more than life. This is the woman who chose me over the whole world. You think I'm being poetic. I'm not. Okay? She's gone. You can't take my kids away from me too."

"I can't imagine how hard it is, but try to think of what's best for them. They shouldn't have to live in such an unstable situation. They're six years old, they should be in school. They need to have a routine, to play with other children, to have a home where... STOP THAT!"

I look at her in shock and open my mouth to say "What?" Something falls into my lap. It's the chewed-up end of a cigar. I go to pick it up, and find out there's a lighter in my hand.

Dr. Page is pissed. "Don't smoke in my house! Are you smoking at home, too? Your daughter is recovering from some fairly serious burns -- the last thing she needs is to be breathing second-hand smoke."

"Uh... I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! You're distraught. You're so upset you don't even know what you're doing. That's dangerous for the children."

"Hey! I'm not gonna hurt my kids!"

She gives me that look, cold and steady. "Children are like cats -- they're often under foot. Haven't you ever been distracted and kicked a cat by accident?"

"That's different."

"Your feet are rather sharp. Was the cat all right?"

"Cat was fine."

"Imagine this. It's late at night, the children are in bed, and you're smoking and drinking beer. You do like beer, don't you? You have a little too much and fall asleep without putting out your cigar. It lights something on fire. You won't wake up -- you're fireproof. What happens to them?"

"I'm not that stupid. I'd never do that." I appreciate everything she's done for us, but she's starting to piss me off.

"Something ordinary, then. You're cooking, and your mind is elsewhere. Katie comes up behind you, and when you turn to her you forget that your hand is on the handle of a pot. Whatever's boiling in the pot falls on her."

"I'm careful when I'm cooking."

"What if you're just walking through the house, and you don't realize that Trevor is right behind you, and you turn suddenly. That stone hand of yours -- that's about the same height as Trevor's head, isn't it?"

"Stop it! ...All right, I get your point. But you couldn't take them away anyway. Who else is gonna care for them? They're my kids -- they're not human."

"They've passed as humans before. Trevor looks completely human even with his clothes off, now that his horns have been ground down. We can't do anything about Katie's hooves, but that can be explained as a genetic deformity. There's a condition called ectrodactyly that can cause humans to have only two toes on each foot. The tail, though, that's a problem. If she were going to be adopted as a human child, that would have to be removed."

"Hold it right there! The tail, it's like a hand. You can't cut off my daughter's hand."

"Better to enter life with one hand..." she quotes.

"'If your hand causes you to sin', huh?"

Dr. Page looks confused. "... yes, I suppose..."

"I know that verse."

It's in the book of Mark. 'If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life maimed than with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out.'

I hit Dr. Page.

I've only grazed her with the tips of the fingers on my left hand, but she falls backwards hard, and when she looks up at me in shock I can see welts starting to raise on her cheek. I feel a surge of power running up my arm, and it feels wonderful. At that moment, we both realize how stupidly easy it would be for me to kill her, right then and there.

But me and Liz, we sure know how to pick 'em. That doctor, she's got stones of steel. She gets up and looks me right in the eye.

"Selfish bastard! So you want to take them and run? Where will you go? How will you feed them? If you love your children at all, think about what they need, not what you want!"

She's right. I take the kids home to get their stuff. I can't stand to have them at home for one more night, if it's going to be the last night I'll see them. I'd change my mind and run off with them. I take them straight back to Dr. Page and say goodbye.

I go back to my empty house. Drink all the beer. Break some furniture. I herd up all the cats -- at least I can do right by them -- and leave them outside an animal shelter with a note asking whoever finds them to make sure they go to good homes.

Then I leave.

I can't rightly say what I did for the next few years. Wandered around. I have a little notoriety in some circles because of the whole stupid hello-world stunt I pulled right before leaving the Bureau. I can sometimes barter that into a few meals and a comfortable place to sleep. I'd do odd jobs where I could, dumb stunts -- steal my daddy's cue and make a living out of playing pool, that kind of crap. Steal sometimes -- hey, I saved the world more than once, I'd like to think I earned it. All the time, I'm wondering what I could have done different. God help me, I'm bitter at Liz. I'm bitter at Dr. Page, but all the same I'm wondering what's wrong with me that it felt so good when I hit her.

This one night, I'm in a field, numb and drunker than ever, and I see this Thing. It's a thing I've seen before -- it's that tall, skeletal thing, with the wings and the eyes, and the eyes on the wings, and the nasty smile. It's Death.

"I know you," I slur at it.

"Yes."

"Liz ain't here this time. You've come to take me?"

"No."

"You know, your prophecies weren't worth a steaming pile. No Apocalypse. Sorry to hafta tell you."

"The future is yet to be."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. I don't want to hear your 'ooh, ooh, suffering on the way' crap."

"Suffering has arrived."

That wakes me up real fast. "Did something happen to Liz? Tell me! What have you done with Liz!"

"Elizabeth Sherman has been suffering for many years. Before she ever saw me face-to-face she prayed for me to take her children."

Before I know it, my hands are in its robes, pulling that nasty face down so I can get my hands around its neck.

"Damn liar! Liz would never! Don't you dare touch my kids!"

"That was many years ago."

I have to stop. "What are you talking about? When?"

"Before she gave them birth."

It takes me a minute to figure that one out. "You mean... Liz didn't want to have our kids?"

"She feared that she would cause her children to suffer. She feared that she and you could not provide for them a life of security."

And so help me, I cried like a baby in front of all those eyes. Death just stands there and watches. And then I look back at her, and say "You know what...

... SCREW YOU!" And I punch her square in that ugly hatchet face of hers. Right hand.

She moves backwards with my fist like smoke, and I swear the bitch is smiling.

"I'm gonna fix it with my family, hear me, you crusty old crone? You listening? I'm gonna fix it!"

Then Death is gone. Just gone, no trace. And I've had what you might call an epiphany.

What's the one thing I've ever been good at my whole life? Hitting things. I was a damn good father too, until everything went down the toilet. Pretty crappy husband, but hey, two for three.

That's why hitting that doctor felt so good. I just hadn't done what I'm good at in so long. And where's the one place where I've gotten thanks and praise, and made a good living on top of it, by hitting things? The B.P.R.D. Sure, it'll be tough to see Manning's smug face, but at least I'll be crawling back myself instead of being dragged back. The Bureau probably knows where my kids are, too. It might not help me to make things up to them, but I'm sure as hell not helping anyone skunkity-drunk in a field.

I'm going back.


	4. Business: Kate Corrigan's voice

Note: Kate Corrigan and Roger are characters from the Hellboy and B.P.R.D. comics, and Ben Daimio is from the B.P.R.D. comics.

Roger can be seen standing in stasis in a booth, down the hallway across from Hellboy's room, in both the first and second movies. According to the Internet Movie Database, he goes through "periods of dormancy".

Kate Corrigan's voice: Business

I don't believe it at first when I hear that Hellboy has come back to the B.P.R.D. Ten years, and he just walks back in the door one day? But the elevator from the lobby descends, and sure enough, there he is. He looks different than he does in the photos I've seen. Haggard is the word, I think. I try to remember everything I've read and heard about this guy before I make an official greeting. I don't get the chance, though -- Roger beats me to it.

"Hi Hellboy!" he says with that childlike enthusiasm of his, face all glowing.

"Roger! Hey, they woke you up!"

"They did. They woke me up after you left. They taught me how to be an agent." Roger's joyful expression slips a bit, and his heavy brow furrows in worry. "I'm living in your old room now. You can have it back if you want."

"Naw, Roger, you should have it if you like it. I'll just take that booth at the end of the hall you used to live in."

Roger's expression opens again. "That's funny!"

I should make my official greeting now, I think, before these two slip off to go bowling or something.

"Hellboy? Kate Corrigan. I'm the director for the B.P.R.D. Welcome back. I'm pleased to meet you, I've heard a lot about the valuable service you've given the Bureau."

I try not to look too confused as I try to decide whether etiquette allows me to offer my left hand to shake, or if I have to negotiate that huge stone hand on the right. But he's looking openly confused, and apparently shaking hands hasn't even crossed his mind.

"Director? Where's Manning?"

A low growl of a voice answers him from behind me -- Ben's arrived. "Manning? After the B.P.R.D. got outed on his watch? After his three best agents quit on him? He was outta here so fast it left skid marks."

"Who're you?"

"Ben Daimio. I got YOUR job." Ben is sneering. He'd always look like he was sneering anyway, what with his cheek laid open to the teeth, but somehow he's developed a way to express disdain on top of that. I appreciate his tactical skills and dedication to the Bureau, but I can understand why Liz hates him.

When I think that, I realize what is going to have to happen. Very soon. I just don't want to be the person who makes it happen.

That person turns out to be Roger. Guileless, oblivious to the open hostility that's now running between Ben and Hellboy, he says cheerfully, "Liz'll be so excited to see you!"

"Liz?" Hellboy looks completely dumbstruck. "She's here?"

Hurriedly, I start to say "Please wait here, I'll go get her." But before I can get the first word out Hellboy is practically running down the hall, shouting Liz's name. I should have expected that.

Luckily, I have an advantage -- I know where I saw her last. I take a different hallway, cut around to where I know she was just a few minutes earlier, and start peeking in rooms.

It's ridiculously easy to find her. She's tucked herself into a corner of a darkened room, but blue flames are licking up from her arms and shoulders, so the darkness only makes her even more conspicuous. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her eyes are huge.

"Liz," I say gently, "He's calling you. Why don't you answer?"

"I can't." she says shakily, flames rising. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"Yes he does. I would."

Poor girl. But I can't let her stay like this.

"You can't hide forever. You have to face what happened. Go talk to him."

She shakes her head mutely, unevenly, getting a distant look in her eyes like her mind's gone elsewhere. I want to physically push her out of the room, but I can't touch her now that she's burning. I wasn't made Director for no reason, though.

I give her my best commanding officer voice. "Liz. Go. Now."

She obeys.

They meet in the hallway. I can't see them, but I can hear them. There's breathless silence for several seconds.

"I lost the kids." he says.

"I know." she answers.

Their next words are muffled and very close together -- they must have embraced.

It's all the same phrase, from both of them, over and over.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I sit down on the floor in the darkness of the room. I'll give them a few minutes to themselves. Then we'll have to get down to business.

* * *

I spread out files on the table in front of me like a dealer spreading playing cards. Across from me, Liz picks at their edges with one hand -- her other hand is holding Hellboy's hand.

I speak first. "Liz came back to the Bureau just after she left your house four years ago... right, Liz?" She nods.

"She kept your secret, you know. Flawlessly. Much as we asked her, as much as she was making herself sick with worry."

Liz adds, "Once I had some time to think, I wanted to find you -- but I didn't know how to do it without letting you get caught too. And then we started hearing about you moving around, and I knew I was too late."

"That's right." I say. "We got reports coming out of different locations all over the States. We tried to find you a couple of times, but we never got close, apparently. You're a slippery guy when you want to be, you know that? We never heard any reports involving children, though – we just assumed you had them. Then, about a year ago, we were investigating reports of witchcraft in a foster care group home in Georgia. No real witchcraft, as it turned out -- just a bunch of disturbed little girls playing disturbed little games. But one of them mentioned meeting a 'devil girl' at the last orphanage she'd been through. We didn't get many details out of her, but something about that tripped our instincts. So we investigated. Turns out, it was Katie. Poor girl was called the 'devil child' even by the administrators -- for her unusual feet, but from what they told us, even more so because she'd been giving everyone a bad attitude. She'd been moved around between foster homes for three years. Nobody had adopted her, and nobody fostered her for more than a few months."

"I tried to get her back." Liz interjects bitterly. "I couldn't. I'm an unfit mother."

"What, they got some kinda law on the books against pyrokinetics taking care of their own kids?" Hellboy says angrily.

Liz looks bitter. "She had marks on her arms from where I burned her when she was six. They didn't need to know how I burned her. They just knew that I did. And that I can't keep a steady job, and that I've been in and out of asylums..."

Her voice, hard and flat, breaks off. Hellboy gathers her up and strokes her hair, then turns back to me. "So. Where is she now? How can we get her back? And what happened to Trevor?"

"Trevor is doing well. He was taken into a foster home right away, and it wasn't long until they adopted him. They're a good family by all accounts -- although I do question their willingness to separate a brother and sister. We haven't tried to make contact with him yet. We can't take him away from the parents who have legally adopted him, so we thought, why destabilize a good situation. After all the upheaval he's been through, we were worried that contacting him would damage his relationship with his new family, without bringing him any closer to being reunited with you two. Katie too -- we've been keeping tabs on her, but we haven't tried to contact her personally. It seems like what we're going to have to do is wait til they're eighteen."

"Eight years from now?" Hellboy asks anxiously.

"Yes. If Katie is adopted, so much the better for her – though it's unlikely now, as old as she is, and with her history. If she's not adopted, she'll be placed in a group home for older children. When she's eighteen, she'll be emancipated -- legally an adult, and able to live independently. We'll contact her then, and invite her to come live at the Bureau. We'll give Trevor an invitation to come here too at that time -- he can decide what he wants to do then."

Liz and Hellboy nod solemnly, although they look anxious.

God, it's tough. But there's not much more to do about it now. Now we wait. And we'll try to get life at the Bureau back to business as usual.


	5. Letters: Trevor Sherman's voice

Note: The "glass installation company logo": I'm assuming that the BPRD goes back underground, but with a different cover. In the commentary for the first movie, del Toro says that originally they were going to ride undercover in a glass company truck rather than a garbage truck.

Trevor Sherman's voice: Letters

I got the letter just after I graduated from high school. Did I want to meet with my first parents?

The government will pay for my plane ticket, they'll pay for everything. I just have to be willing to make that trip. I love my adoptive parents, I like where I'm living, but I'm not conflicted for one second -- of course I want to see them. When I send back the RSVP, the Bureau -- I know it's the Bureau, even though it comes in an envelope marked with the logo for some glass installation company, it's funny, my friends are gonna think I'm apprenticing there as a summer job or something -- the Bureau sends me back an envelope with my plane ticket and a brown paper package marked in threatening red block letters DO NOT OPEN BEFORE THE TRIP.

It says, "before the trip" -- it doesn't say anything about opening it while ON the trip. They're flying me business-class, and I'm lucky enough not to have anyone sitting next to me, so I go ahead and open the package. Inside are a couple of fat manila folders, both marked "SECRET". On the edge, typed out, one has my Mom's name and one has my Dad's name.

The government has sent me a top-secret briefing on my parents. Welcome to my life.

I open Dad's file first. There's an old photo sitting right on top, and seeing it hits me with one of my earliest memories.

I was maybe four years old. I was sitting on Dad's lap. I said "Tell me about Trevor again."

"Trevor? He's about yeah big," said Dad, stretching out a hand parallel to the ground at about my height, "and he likes to play dinosaurs."

"No! Silly. Tell me about Trevor-father!"

"Trevor's father? He's about yeah big," and Dad stretched his hand high in the air, "and he likes cats."

"Noo-ooo!" I wailed, laughing and pounding his chest. "The other Trevor!"

"You mean Daddy's father?"

"Yah. That one." I gave him a good solid pout.

Dad sighed. "I wish I had a photo to show you. I had this great photo, the first one anyone ever took of father and me together. But I lost it."

This photo, cracked and sepia-tinted with age and too much handling, this has got to be it. This is priceless. And my Dad sent it to me.

There's Dad in front -- he's just a little baby, but nobody else in the world looks like him -- there's his stone hand. I turn the photo over, and there's the date and a list of names. 1944. I count heads from the left. That man standing behind Dad with his hand tucked into his coat, that's Trevor Bruttenholm. I hold the photo up close. My grandfather -- stuff of legend. My namesake.

There's a list of dates, with names of places and all sorts of other weird words, plus a few notes. I catch "werewolf" and "vampire" in the list -- okay, so looks like these are jobs he did for the Bureau. Nice. It's a long list. The last entry is the year before I was born -- not too many months before I was born, come to think of it. I count it out mentally. Eight months. Hmmm. Mom and Dad said they quit before they had Katie and me -- that must've been the last job Dad did before he quit.

There's some grainy tabloid clippings, with headlines like "FBI Makes Deal with Devil-Boy" and "Government Hides the Truth". Then there are some more newspaper and magazine clippings -- nice ones, with real head-on photos, and quotes and everything. I've seen most of these before.

When I was in elementary school, I read fantasy books as fast as I could find them. It was the one thing that made me feel connected to Mom and Dad and Katie, when everything else in my life was completely mundane. It was like hearing Dad tell me stories again.

When I was in high school, I started looking up urban legends. And that's how I found Mom and Dad again. On Youtube. On websites -- some respectable, some trashy, some just weird. Giving interviews. Cell phone videos. Conspiracy theorists, claiming the whole thing was an elaborate hoax.

I scoured the internet for everything I could possibly find about them. So much of it was B.S., though. I never got the whole backstory. And I never got any news. It was like they fell off the edge of the earth after they left Katie and me. I saw some rumors of Dad being seen, but it's sometimes hard to tell whether those are posted by honest paranormal enthusiasts, or bored kids, or druggies, or what.

I close Dad's file and go to open Mom's. An avalanche of polaroid photos comes spilling out of it, all over my lap and the floor. A flight attendant walks over to help me, and I almost panic -- the government's going to find out I spilled all their secrets! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DO TO TRAITORS! But then I realize that there's nothing incriminating about the polaroids. They're all normal people. There's my Mom, younger than I remember her... there she is again, even younger... here's my grandfather... and some people I've never seen before.

Here's that USA Today article. Somebody had linked it to her, so I've seen this too. "Tragic Explosion" it says. "Child Only Survivor." And the photo of Mom as a little girl. It still chills me all the way through to see that headline.

There's a list here of all her pyrokinetic episodes. There's a list of Mom's missions with the Bureau too. I check the last entry -- yep, same as Dad's. That means Katie and me were going on top-secret government missions before we were born. Awesome.

Then I notice that the list of her missions includes quitting dates. Not the one quitting date, when she and Dad left together -- lots of quitting dates. Almost every year, it looks like. I count them out... thirteen. Wow.

I've got a lot to think over before I see them.

The car ride from the airport is uneventful. The B.P.R.D. building (they don't call it that, of course -- it's got that glass company logo on the front) is pretty ugly, to be honest. It's got this section of the floor that sinks down like an elevator, though -- I have to say, that's pretty impressive. A middle-aged blond woman meets me at the bottom, introduces herself as Kate Corrigan, and leads me through the most god-awful maze of hallways to a large, heavily-decorated door. She waves me in, and I'm in the most richly decorated study I could imagine -- books, statues, tapestries, the works, and even an aquarium that fills up an entire wall, although that looks completely empty.

There are two couches set up facing each other in the middle of the room. My parents are sitting on one of them.

They stare at me when I come in. I'm staring at them, too. My Mom looks shockingly old -- but then, I haven't seen her since I was six, and I was just looking at photos of her taken more than eighteen years ago. My Dad, though, looks like he's gotten younger since I saw them last. He's obviously been working out -- he's wearing this tight shirt, and he's ripped. Man, I wish I could have picked which genes I was gonna inherit.

My Mom speaks first.

"Trevor! You've gotten so tall! And so handsome."

My Dad makes a lopsided sort of smile. "Hey, no fair saying that! He doesn't look like me at all."

He's not wrong -- I got most of Mom's small features, just somehow stretched out over Dad's height. But I don't think that's all he means. I pull my hair back over my forehead and show them my scars -- the two circular scars where my horns used to be.

They stare, and then Dad says, "Huhn. That's neatly done, there. But you're probably going to lose that hair sooner or later," he gestures towards his own bald head, "What are you gonna tell people when they ask how you got those scars?"

"I'll say, 'You should see the OTHER guy'."

My voice is really deep. They both look startled, and then these crazy grins spread over their faces, and suddenly they're laughing. I start laughing too, and they're sprawling out over the couch and beating it with their hands and holding their stomachs, and I have to sit down because I'm laughing too hard to stand, even though I have no idea what's so funny. Then they're walking over to me, still laughing, and they stand me up and hug me, and I see tears in my Mom's eyes, and it's kind of embarrassing because who wants to see their parents get all emotional?

We get back over to the couches and they sit me down on the one and sit down across from me. They ask me all about my adoptive family, about school, about my friends, everything. They keep telling me how proud they are of me, and how happy they are that I found good place to live.

At one point Mom gets quiet, and says, "We are so, so sorry we were such bad parents. Can you ever forgive us?"

What can I say to something like that? I stop and think for a moment. "I won't say I wasn't angry. But I think I understand a little bit better now. There was a lot you both had to deal with, and you kept Katie and me safe from it. We were happy. You weren't bad parents, really. So yeah. Of course."

We keep talking for another good chunk of time. Then Ms. Corrigan sticks her head in the door, and announces that Katie's arrived. The sister I haven't seen in twelve years walks in, and all the air goes out of the room.

You'd think, that if fate gave a girl hooves, it would make her pretty as sort of a consolation prize. That didn't happen with Katie. It's not that her features are ugly -- just utilitarian. And right now, they're efficiently and effectively expressing that she is Not Happy.

Mom is so relieved after talking with me, she goes right up to Katie and hugs her. "Katie! I'm so glad you're here!"

Katie just stands there stiffly, arms to her sides, and says "Hi, Mom." in a flat little voice. Mom turns to lead Katie to the couch, and when her face is towards us we can see that she's crushed.

Dad's staring at Katie, his eyebrows all heavy. And he says, sounding very concerned and paternal, "Katie, what happened to your tail?"

Katie's wearing jeans that ride low on her hips. She turns around and pulls the top of them down almost to her buttcrack. Right on top of her tailbone there's a large, puckered nasty-looking scar. Next to it she has a tattoo. It's a she-devil -- one of those trashy ones you see on guitars and cars sometimes, with red skin and a forked tail and big boobs and a come-hither look.

"You have a tramp stamp," Dad says in a flat voice.

"I'm not a tramp," says Katie sharply, and gives him a look that's just as heavy as his.

Mom tries to save the situation. "Katie, come over here. Sit down. We're so glad to see you. Tell us where you've been, what you've been doing."

"Lots of places. Different people's homes. Group house."

There's a sort of sad parody of the conversation I was having with Mom and Dad, where instead of laughter and happiness and pride there's suspicion and awkwardness and short hard answers. It's not that anything really bad has happened to Katie -- it's just that there hasn't been much that's been particularly good. I notice that Mom doesn't ask her if she's forgiven them. I think she's afraid of the answer she'd get.

They finally wrap up their questions, and Mom and Dad get a business-like look and give us an offer: now that we're eighteen, we're emancipated and free to choose where we want to live. If we want to, we can come live with them at the Bureau until we get places of our own.

I know how much they'd like that, so it's really hard for me to give my answer. "Thanks, really, I'd like to, but... well... I'm starting college in the fall. I got accepted to one I really like, and I already have some friends who are going there too. And then on vacations -- well, I'd like to see you again, but I really like my adopted family too, and I want to keep seeing them, and I have friends in my hometown..."

Dad puts up a hand to stop my rambling. He looks a little disappointed, but happy too. "It's okay. Do that. Whatever makes you happy, you go ahead and do it. But if you ever want to come visit, we'll hook you up. A letter sometimes would be nice too, or..."

"I'll stay," says Katie loudly, interrupting him. I think we're all a little surprised. We look at her, and she says, "It's not like I have any other plans. You think the Bureau's got something for me to do?"

"We'll talk to Kate. I mean, Dr. Corrigan." says Mom, a bit weakly. And it's decided. I stay for a couple of weeks, and then I go back to my adoptive family to get ready for school.

So that's where it stands. I'm doing okay at college -- getting pretty decent grades, making new friends. I get calls from Mom and Dad sometimes -- they kind of nag me about studying and stuff, but it's okay. I get letters from Katie, too. She complains about Mom and Dad a lot -- says they're always on her case. I secretly kind of think if she didn't go out of her way to get in people's faces all the time, they wouldn't have a problem with her, but she'll do what she wants -- that's just the kind of person Katie is. Sounds like she's doing okay, though -- she's got some clerical duties, but says she wants to learn how to shoot a gun and become a full agent.

And me, I'm the boring one. I like things predictable. I kind of wish I could tell my adoptive parents and my friends about where I came from, and what I know, but I guess things are the way they have to be. Sometimes I hear my friends complain about how messed up or weird their families are, and all I do is laugh.


End file.
